


greater glove hath no man

by ICMezzo



Category: Schitt's Creek
Genre: Leather, M/M, for the love of god put on a pair of gloves DJL, minty-fresh kisses, no background pizza, past reference to a successful trip to the dentist, this is the weirdest set of tags I’ve ever tagged, winter outerwear
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-11
Updated: 2021-03-11
Packaged: 2021-03-17 23:27:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,549
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29973894
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ICMezzo/pseuds/ICMezzo
Summary: Marci sends Patrick a box of goodies. More specifically, she sends cookies (for David) and a pair of gloves (for Patrick). David only has eyes for the former… until it’s too late.Or, the one where David likes the gloves.
Relationships: Patrick Brewer/David Rose
Comments: 32
Kudos: 145





	greater glove hath no man

**Author's Note:**

> This is… I don’t actually know what this is. Self-indulgent. A ridiculous response to the realization that for some reason DJL doesn’t seem to wear gloves. Like, ever. (Winter ones, not the baseball kind. Though he probably doesn’t wear those either.) Anyway, since I can’t mitigate the risk of frostbite for anyone beyond the walls of this archive, I can at least allow David Rose to appreciate a nice pair. OF GLOVES.
> 
> Many thanks to [swat117](https://archiveofourown.org/users/swat117) for reading this through and helping untangle my messes and unpurple my prose. Much glove.
> 
> And if any grapes happen to read this, thank you for aiding in my hunt for photographic evidence of gloves and subsequent inspiration.

Intent on making room for more cool weather apparel now that fall was giving way to winter, David had his back to the door as he adjusted the top shelf display of handbags to create more space. The familiar bell jingled as he was finishing up, but before he could turn around and see who had entered, Patrick’s easy-going baritone greeted him.

“Hey, I’m back,” Patrick said, the sound of his steps indicating he was headed straight for David, likely for a quick hello kiss, which David was more than prepared to give him. “No cavities!”

“Good job, honey,” David said, craning his neck to give a smile to Patrick, who was grinning toothily in return. It didn’t matter how long they were apart; some days, even a few minutes was too long. And this time Patrick had been gone for a few hours for a dentist appointment in Elm Glen. Much too long, if David had anything to say about it. It meant he’d had to open the store that morning as well, which he also had things to say about.

When his eyes finally left Patrick’s extra shiny smile, he took in the rest of Patrick’s familiar form.

Which is when he nearly fell off the step stool he’d been standing on.

“What. Um.” Why was his voice so high? “What’s that—what are those?” His face was probably doing weird things.

“These?” Patrick held out his gloves, and David couldn’t _breathe_. “My mom sent them in the package we got last week. With all the cookies?” And well, it was no wonder David had been distracted from the rest of the items in the box. Cookies would do it every time.

Handbags forgotten, he carefully returned to the safety of floor level and closed the distance between them. He gave Patrick a quick kiss on the side of his head and his hands found Patrick’s shoulders on autopilot. He took a half step back and risked another quick look at the gloves that peeked out from the sleeves of Patrick’s coat.

 _Oh god._ He was right.

They were _designer._

His mouth went dry.

Gorgeous, _expensive_ black leather hugged Patrick’s beautiful hands. They were pure luxury, the quality and craftsmanship immediately apparent to David’s well-trained eye. A small sound wrenched itself from his throat. He felt himself going warm. Patrick’s hands in those elegant gloves—fuck. They might need to close early.

“Um, honey, where did… how did…um, hmmm. Okay. That’s. Yes.”

“I don’t know, she found them on eBay or something?” Patrick said, so fluent in David that he needed no further elaboration. Or nouns. “But I guess they were too small for my dad or something. He has a weird thumb. So, anyway, guess what? The dentist said I was the best flosser he’d seen in weeks,” Patrick said proudly as David watched the leather gloves turn Patrick’s typical minimalistic gestures into a much more refined accompaniment to his tale of dental glory. David realized he was breathing heavily with his mouth open, which, ew. But also, could anyone blame him?

Patrick paused. “David?”

“Mmm?” he said. Those fingers, Patrick's beautiful perfect fingers, fingers that had touched David everywhere and made him feel so many things, were now clad in luscious black leather. Seeing them swathed in such decadence was intoxicating.

“David.”

“Oh, sorry. Um, flossing. That’s great. Did they give you a sticker?” David asked, still intent on Patrick’s hand situation.

 _The gloves must be soft,_ David realized then. _Oh god. Just imagine how soft._

David followed the path of those exquisite gloves until Patrick had raised them to David’s eye level and gave a playful wiggle of his fingers. It was enough to break the spell. At least temporarily. David took in Patrick’s laughing eyes and found his own mouth curl up on one side in response. He tried rather unsuccessfully to bite it back.

“Hey.” Patrick said it with a little nod. “C’mere.”

David went.

Patrick lifted a glove and ran that glorious buttersoft leather up and along David’s neck, behind his ear. David’s knees went weak. Sliding his hand, his _glove,_ back to brush his fingers lightly over David’s neck, Patrick finally curled possessively over David’s nape. Heat pooled in David’s belly.

From there, Patrick drew him in as though by some strange magnetic force rather than any real physical pressure. His touch was gentle but sure, but it was as though Patrick owned him, as though Patrick was so completely confident that David would come to him that he didn’t need to try any harder than that. He wasn’t wrong. David nuzzled Patrick’s wrist helplessly—more specifically, he tried to bury his entire face in the thin band of Patrick’s skin that revealed itself between end of sleeve and start of glove. When he inhaled deeply, the wrist-warmed air brought with it the rich scent of leather, and he made a small, desperate sound as he realized it.

“Okay, David,” Patrick said fondly, pulling his arm free and giving him a loving little scritch on the back of the head.

David started to pull back. He was being weird. He was being too much. He was—

But Patrick wouldn’t let him go, not all the way. He simply hauled him back in until David found himself leaning close enough that his breath mingled with Patrick’s own. Rich leather swept along David’s neck once more, but this time when it reached his jaw, it continued its advance in the form of velvet fingertips brushed over David’s cheekbone.

“Patrick,” David breathed, a devotion, as Patrick nudged David’s nose with his own. 

The whispered syllables were the key to Patrick’s undoing. His eyes flickered closed, and a soft yearning sound broke free.

At last, Patrick discarded the remaining distance between their lips as utterly unnecessary and captured David’s mouth in a breathless, mind-melting, minty-fresh kiss that seemed to go on for days. (But then, the minutes, hours, days never seemed to march precisely when it came to his time with Patrick.)

It was absolutely inappropriate for the workplace, but David didn’t care. Not with Patrick’s mouth, Patrick’s hands, Patrick’s hunger intent on him. Their own careful rules, scribbled and thumbtacked Martin Luther-style to the wall in the back behind the cash, could go drown in the bath salts for all he cared.

But all good things must come to an end, apparently, so, generally the more reasonable one, Patrick eventually broke the kiss. As David reoriented himself to their surroundings, he discovered a gloved hand on his chest, his heart hammering at twice it’s normal rhythm beneath its palm. Patrick's other hand was still resting on David’s neck. He couldn’t help but curl into it for just a moment more, relishing in the softness that belied the strength and kindness and frankly absurd amount of competency enclosed therein.

And then David discovered Patrick’s eyes were absolutely shining.

“All right,” David said grumpily, breaking away because Patrick’s eyes were too much (much, much too much) at a time like this. So of course Patrick just laughed, and now his eyes were both shining and crinkled, and my god, was he actually trying to kill David? He huffed. Loudly.

It was drowned out entirely by the jangle of the bell on the front door, signalling the arrival of a customer, so David stalked off to the back to put away his step stool. Patrick’s eyes could deal with the customer instead; if they didn’t result in an upsell, nothing would.

*********

“You never said whether you love them or hate them,” Patrick said from behind David as he emerged from the back.

David’s jaw dropped open in astonishment until he realized Patrick was messing with him. Snapping his mouth closed before Patrick could see (as though Patrick ever missed a thing), he replied, as evenly as he could manage, “They’re fine, I suppose.” He tried to focus on his last task before they could leave—replenishing the lip balm and mints by the cash.

“Oh really,” Patrick said, coming to stand across from him at the register.

“Mmm,” David hummed noncommittally. It was the end of the day, and Patrick was once again in his coat and gloves, ready for their impending departure. He lifted a gloved finger to David’s chin, using it to tip David’s head so Patrick could kiss him, light and chaste.

“Is that so?” Patrick asked, smiling as David chased after his mouth for another even though Patrick was ridiculous.

“Yes.” David said when they parted, utterly unable to remember what question he’d been asked. But honestly, the gloves were right there. Paying attention was… difficult. He gave up on stocking the products. They could wait until morning.

“I can take them off,” Patrick said, “if you think they’re incorrect.”

“They’re not _not correct,”_ he clarified as he went into the back to retrieve his own coat. When he re-emerged, they headed to the front door together. Feeling generous, David added, “But you should. Um. Thank Marci. For me. For those.”

“So, I guess I’ll keep the gloves then,” Patrick laughed. He locked up behind them.

“I mean. Only if you want.” David sniffed and wove his fingers with Patrick’s for the walk home, which was decidedly less dreadful than usual.


End file.
